


Oh, Woe is Me!

by galacticLEI



Category: WKM - Fandom, Who Killed Markiplier, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Might even give a day by day log of this, Not Serious, crack fic?, i found this concept incredibly amusing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticLEI/pseuds/galacticLEI
Summary: Mark had been forced to flee the manor after the events of WKM, and yet he is finding life away from luxury significantly more challenging then expected.~Explanation - Based on a genuine theory from Mark’s video on trying Korean beauty products, in which he gave a long speech about cutting down trees in a snowy pine forest. Someone mentioned that the scenery described matched the scenery within ‘Go Back To Sleep’ and perhaps that actor Mark had fled to a cabin in the wood. Hence I came up with the hilarious idea of Actor Mark “surviving in the wilderness”.Might actually make more chapters if others find this funny.





	Oh, Woe is Me!

Mark had known he needed to run. That much had been overtly obvious. The plan had ended in shambles and for some reason that was completely beyond him he had taken his friends body and left his wife’s and said friend’s spirit within limbo. Purgatory. The void. Big black pit of nothing. Quite a boring place to be stuck, Mark knew from experience. And afterward he had been left with a temporary opening where he could face his horrible series of decisions or scram.

So, of course Mark had done the intelligent thing and decided to scram.

Within that temporary opening where everyone was bickering and also deciding to be smart and run for it he had retrieved his red silk robe from his old, now very dead body (this was of course a vital decision in his plan to escape, how would he ever live without that robe?) and as many bottles of wine from the cellar he could carry (which with a bit of expert juggling from his acrobatic days had been 4 of his most precious bottles). He had felt a bit more like himself now in his extravagant robe, having left Damien’s white bowtie, suit jacket and Mayor badge upstairs. He had given himself very little time to consider the absolute absurdity of his actions as he’d bolted out the door away into the manor grounds and after a while into the extending woodlands, juggling 4 bottles of expensive wine in his hands and taking extra care that his robe didn’t snag.

Which was how of course Mark had wound up in his current position. A decrepit little wooden cabin in the middle of God knows where with only four bottles of wine and the clothes he was wearing. They had been the only things he had thought to grab, quite reasonably enough he had supposed. As if he was expected to live without at least some of the glorious wine he had collected (illegally of course) over his many years living within that manor. Oh yes, the manor, how he would miss it so. How he was so very much miss the luxury of the Markiplier Manor, especially compared to this decrepit little wooden cabin. And when Mark suggested decrepit little wooden cabin, he absolutely meant it. This place he had come across only had three bedrooms. Three! And two of them didn’t even have an ensuite! How someone could ever live in such horrendous conditions was completely beyond him, no wonder such a hideous shack had been abandoned in these cold winter months. Or would it technically still be Fall? Mark would have to admit he’d never needed to pay much attention to the seasons until his current predicament of now living in the wilderness. Did the lions come out in Summer or Winter? None of his acting roles had prepared him for this. For starters if he wished to light the fire to keep himself warm, he himself would have to gather the wood, there were no servants in sight! And to make matters so much worse the shack had been stored with rations. This this was practically war level in quality, he had never understood how that bastard William survived eating any of that trash. It was the food of lower classes, basic canned slop. All of his desperate searching had revealed little to nothing, none of your basic, frankly disgusting moonshine, or even the ingredients for some simple lemon cakes and caramel custard for dessert! He’d even have to prepare the food himself, as horrifying as such a prospect was. Not only that but upon locating the largest bedroom (not difficult considering there were only three, unless you counted the dusty attic room he’d stumbled across, which had almost made him faint at the prospect of sleeping within), there were only two pillows! Not even prepared with lush, patterned pillow cases. None of the beds made, he’d have to do it all himself. And the ensuite didn’t contain a spa to sooth his nerves. He was truly about to be forced to live like some sort of savage, for a few basic past mistakes anyone could have made!

Yet, Mark had learnt to adapt to such harsh conditions, he liked to think of himself as adaptable. But it wasn’t long before his rations were growing short in supply. Not only that but he found himself grievously injured and confined to the shack in which he had begrudgingly made his home. He was suffering, no point in his life had prepared him for such struggles. Why, by the end of day one he was on his last bottle of wine and stuck with biscuits, the only thing he had so far figured out how to prepare. His finger was sore from the agonising splinter he had received upon battling to move a log from the wood store to the fireplace, and even then he had been unable to figure out how to light such a thing. His attempt at rubbing two logs together had proved fruitless in nature, he was quite frankly unsure how Benjamin had ever managed to succeed in such a thing. His beautiful hands were not ready for the callouses of such hard, manual labour. He laid now upon his unmade bed, like the tomb he might as well be stuck within, tears glistening in his eyes. He did not know what he had done for God to curse him with such a terrible life. Why does such great beauty have to come with such searing pain? 

God had not however cursed him with a lack of intellect. Mark knew he needed to think ahead to survive such a disastrous situation. He had poured one of his poor bottles of wine into the plant pot of a rather dead looking sort of shrub. He had no idea how long it took for a wine to grow, or how exactly to turn one into wine, but he was most certainly ready to figure it out once the time came. He was going to need to figure out how to make wine, considering he was stuck here far from civilisation. It was on this first, unending day of suffering, he had realised no search parties would come to rescue him. He was by every account considered to be dead, and this revelation was in of itself heartbreaking. He may never get to taste wine ever again.

Mark cried himself to sleep that night, the horrors of the plain white sheets he was forced to sleep in being made of a basic fabric, the rough material chaffing his sensitive skin. His dreams swarmed him with the temptations of his true home, the manor. Delectable six course meals of stuffed celery, roasted turkey, pastry pigs and crudités with dips. How he longed desperately for his humble life to come back to him, and not this painful existence he was currently forced endure. 

He could only hope the second day of this living hell would provide him with some actual luck.


End file.
